You guys, I’m drowning. This summer has been all kinds of wonderful, but it has also been all kinds of busy. You see, I like to overload myself with responsibilities and then complain about them. Normally, I enjoy coupling a new, huge undertaking with the birth of a child:
2009, birth of first child: While on maternity leave from my traditional teaching job, applied for and snagged a gig as an online instructor. Began new role as work-at-home-parent.
2011, birth of second child: Started writing my blog which has become an additional job, but my very, very favorite job. Other than being a mom. Of course.
2014, birth of third child: I’m hired by We Are Teachers as a freelance writer and WEEEEE!!! my dreams of being a writer–the kind that people read–are coming true! So many opportunities, so much writing, so little time for opportunities and writing!
I’m responsible for creating the chaos, so I really shouldn’t be surprised when I get the sudden urge to institutionalize myself; yet the realization that I have again piled too much on my proverbial plate always seems to catch me off-guard.
My husband is also a teacher which means he’s home with us during the summer. That means for the past three months, I have had a false sense of security like we’ve got a routine down, when in actuality, it only appears that way because he has been around to help. He’s an extra body that’s capable of doling out meals and changing diapers. He has been dislodging children from my side so I could meet deadlines, and helping keep the house
clean liveable in a condition that will not have it condemned by the authorities. In short, thank you, husband. I know that in the sea of craptastic husbands, I have found one of the rare gems, and I appreciate you. But now you’re leaving to go back to work and, in the words of our 3 year-old, I’m kind of freaking out.
For the first time ever, I am a work-at-home mom with three paying jobs, three small kids, a house that needs more than a little TLC right now, a husband who will be gone more than he is at home, and the makings of one gargantuan ulcer. I’m anxious. My chest feels tight. The mere thought of adding one more thing to my to-do list makes me want to cry, but at the same time, I feel like if I say no, I’ll be missing out on something BIG.
So, I have to do what grown-ups do and prioritize my shiz. And that sucks because it means some of my favorite time-suckers have to take a back seat for a while:
Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Google+.
Blogging, reading my friends’ work.
Shaving above the knee. Let’s face it, shorts weather is winding down anyway.
Instead, I will be focusing on the things that make sense for my family, #DoTheRightThing:
Dusting, vacuuming, laundry, ignoring tumbleweeds of dog hair.
School drop-off and pick-up, soccer, ice skating, story time at the library.
Baby on my boob, baby on my hip, baby in my carrier.
Oh, and work. Damn.
And if I can fit it in, I would really like to stay on top of:
That pesky chin hair that grows an inch over night.
Exercise because I feel better when I do.
Writing for fun.
Oh and husband, maybe we can meet between the sheets sometime this week? I’ll pencil you in for Wednesday, but don’t get your hopes up.
So if I’m MIA for a while or republishing stuff from last year, don’t hate the playa, hate the game. If everyone would just give me money, then I wouldn’t have to work and problem solved. In the meantime, happy back to school to the rest of you. I hope your transition from lazy summer haze to frantic school days is a little less bumpy than mine. That’s not true, I hope everyone feels equally as overwhelmed and as flustered as I do right now because misery loves company.